


Hysteria

by Reis_Asher



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Consensual, Gloves, Hand Jobs, Lap Sex, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Prostate Massage, Season/Series 01, Smut, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Will is suffering from nightmares after shooting Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal, ever the helpful therapist, suggests an unconventional and controversial method of therapy that might benefit Will.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 262
Collections: Unorthodox Therapy (Hannigram)





	Hysteria

**Author's Note:**

> This happens pretty early in season one, mostly to avoid some of the issues of consent that would arise later on.

Will sat down in the low light of Hannibal's office, lowering himself into the chair opposite his therapist. The leather creaked underneath his weight, and he couldn't seem to get over the fact that he noticed something new inside the office every time he came here. This time it was a piece of art on the wall that caught his gaze. Something about this office was so decadent as to almost be obscene, and yet he liked it. It was interesting. Like Dr. Lecter himself.

"Will." The steady, even tone of Hannibal's voice was a grounding force, and he came back to the moment to find Hannibal's eyes fixed on him, like a researcher might study a lab rat. A favorite lab rat. There was something else in Hannibal's eyes that seemed to fix on him with something akin to fondness, and Will was reminded why he never looked into people's eyes. It exposed him more than it exposed Hannibal. His inner yearning, his loneliness. He didn't want to be seen in this way, and yet Hannibal seemed to gaze right into his soul without asking permission first.

"You are still in distress regarding Garrett Jacob Hobbs." A statement, not a question. Hannibal never guessed. He always knew, and Will both loved and hated it. He wasn't good at talking about himself, and yet Hannibal always seemed to pry words out of him, getting him to talk like Will's vocal cords were an instrument he played fluently.

"I'm having nightmares." Will leaned forward, pressing the tips of his fingers together as he inhaled a deep breath. "I dream I'm the one who slit Abigail's throat."

Hannibal's face twitched for just a moment, and Will wondered if he'd imagined it. On anyone else, it would have been a smile, but why would Hannibal smile at Will's admission? It was disturbing for him to be having these dreams. Abigail was the closest thing he had to a daughter. Perhaps he was getting too far into these murderers' heads.

"You don't know how to separate yourself from the job," Hannibal observed. "To relax and switch off your mind." He pursed his lips. "On occasion, I like to try… alternative, unusual—one might even say controversial—forms of therapy."

Will couldn't say he liked the sound of that, but Alana had recommended this guy. He didn't know him—not yet—and yet there was something about Dr. Lecter that drew him in and made him want to know more. He yearned to peel back layers of the onion like he was getting into the mind of a killer and see what made Hannibal tick.

Hannibal continued. "Did you know that once upon a time, stress in women was chalked up to hysteria, and the treatment for this was to induce an orgasm?"

Will cracked a smile. "I'm not a woman, Dr. Lecter."

"No. No, you are not. Yet I can tell that you do not take care of your needs. You seem to spend more time in the heads of killers than your own." Hannibal leaned forward, and Will swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "It does not have to be sexual. What I am proposing is just a treatment."

"A treatment involving inducing an orgasm?" Will shot Hannibal a skeptical glance. What game was he playing here?

"I would stimulate your prostate gland," Hannibal explained. "Many find the experience one of the most gratifying encounters of their life, especially if they have never engaged in anal play."

"Y—You want to—" Will cracked a smile. "This is a joke. Did Alana put you up to this?"

Hannibal almost seemed hurt, if such a thing was possible. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes icy cold. "Do you mock my profession, Will? I want to treat you."

"No, of course not. I know you're just trying to help." Panic flared inside Will as he realized Hannibal was dead serious. He glanced at the door, wondering if he should get the hell out of here, but he quashed the fight-or-flight instinct and forced himself to consider Hannibal's proposal as a serious treatment. Hannibal wasn't wrong. He rarely bothered to attend to his sexual desires. He didn't much care about his body at all. It was possible Hannibal's treatment might bring him back from all the dark corners of Garrett Jacob Hobbs' mind he'd found himself squatting in. "If I consent to this—how would it work?"

"I would first ask you to disrobe from the waist down. I would put on a surgical glove and penetrate you with one digit. I would use ample lubrication. The experience would not be painful. I would not touch your genitals, though you may if you desire it."

"I've never—" Will blushed, looking down at the floorboards. Anywhere but Hannibal's eyes. "You really think this will work?"

"I do."

"All right." Will stood up, biting his lip to avoid the tremor in his voice. Hannibal stood up as well. He walked over to his desk and pulled a box of surgical gloves out of one drawer, every movement precise and intentional as he placed them on the desk along with a bottle of lubricant. He pulled a pair of gloves on, the latex snapping back against his hand, and picked up the lube.

Will unbuckled his belt as Hannibal drew close behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders. Waiting. Will let his pants fall to the ground and pushed his briefs down, stepping out of them. Hannibal scooped up his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the table before returning to loom over Will from behind.

"Relax," Hannibal whispered into his ear, almost caressing it with his lips. Hannibal's hand was on the small of Will's back, smoothing in circles, and Will couldn't remain tense. He was in good hands, here. This was a medical procedure that was going to help him. Like a prostate exam, though he'd only read about those. "Spread your legs slightly." Will followed the command, his flaccid dick resting on his thigh. He wasn't going to get hard from this. Hannibal was going to fail. The cold lube at his hole confirmed it, and he had to struggle not to laugh. It wouldn't be good to laugh with a man's finger inside him.

Hannibal's lubricated digit pushed inside to the first knuckle, and Will felt a slight burn. It wasn't painful, but it was slightly uncomfortable. An intrusion on his person, though he'd consented to this. He didn't get the feeling that Hannibal would threaten or coerce him if he asked to stop, and he considered it as an option before deciding to press on. He let out a long, slow breath, forcing himself to relax. Hannibal slipped further inside until his whole finger was buried.

Hannibal's long, thick finger brushed his prostate and Will let out an involuntary cry. Hannibal's chin rested on his shoulder, seeming to drink in his cries as he drew gentle circles on Will's prostate with the pad of his finger. Will was quickening, his dick growing hard and leaking seminal fluid. He wanted to touch it, but it felt cheap to simply jerk one out when Hannibal was giving him such a gift. He'd never felt anything quite like this before. He could smell Hannibal's breath, pleasant and minty, caressing his ear.

"My knees feel weak," Will confessed. Hannibal guided them both back towards his chair and sat down, pulling Will onto his lap without removing his finger. It only felt better like this, trembling on Hannibal's lap as he kept up his ministrations.

"It's quite normal for one to touch themselves during this experience," Hannibal pointed out.

"Do you want me to touch myself?" Will asked, his breathing ragged.

"I only want what is best for you," Hannibal pointed out. "You appear to be in some mild distress. Perhaps it would be better if we stopped." He withdrew his digit, and Will felt a deep sense of loss and frustration.

"No!" Will turned his head and grabbed Hannibal by the wrist. "Please. Don't stop."

Hannibal's mouth did twist into a smile, then, and Will saw universes laid bare in his deep, intense eyes. Hannibal took his time pouring lube onto his finger before re-inserting himself, and Will couldn't help but wonder if he was being played. He reached down and felt Hannibal's erection through his dress pants, thick and hard as iron. He wasn't the only one getting something out of this, but he couldn't bring himself to be bitter about it.

"It is a normal human reaction to become aroused at the pleasure of another. In some people, pain elicits the same reaction," Hannibal explained, seemingly unconcerned by Will's exposure of his own enjoyment. Will ceased to care as pleasure flooded him once again. His cock was drooling, ribbons of pre-ejaculate staining Hannibal's nice pants. He was going to come, and it was going to be messy. He hadn't touched himself in weeks, and this was more than he ever could have imagined.

He did take his dick in hand, then. His thigh brushed Hannibal's erection and he wanted him with the sudden burning intensity of a thousand suns. There was no space for anything but Hannibal, inside him, surrounding him, everywhere a part of him, and he wondered what sex with this man might be like. He was aware of his own involuntary cries, and of Hannibal's hands on his hips, turning him slightly so he might watch Will masturbate. Hannibal's gaze felt like a physical presence on Will's skin, touching him instead of his own hand.

"Are you going to come, Will?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes," Will cried. "God, I'm so close, Hannibal, please, _please_ —" 

Hannibal seemed to hear his plea, reaching for Will's dick as he let go of it. He wrapped his large hand around it and pumped, stroking Will's prostate and his dick in perfect synchronization. Will cried out, shuddering as he came in great jets that hit the floor, his legs, Hannibal's pants, and his hand. Will's semen sprayed everywhere like blood from a slit artery. Hannibal continued to milk him until there was nothing left and the intrusion inside him felt uncomfortable, then slipped his finger out.

Will stood up, caked in his own sweat, semen dribbling down his thigh. "I'm sorry about the mess." He looked down with embarrassment, thinking he'd never come that much in his life. "I guess it worked. My mind hasn't been this clear in weeks." He pulled on his briefs and jeans, still trembling from the force of his orgasm. He'd imagined he might be afraid of this later on, and what it said about his sexuality, but in the moment he felt only peace and a sense of belonging here with Hannibal Lecter. 

No, not belonging here _with_ Hannibal. Belonging _to_ Hannibal. There had to be something fucked about him that he wanted that kind of relationship with his therapist. That Hannibal was fostering this dependency when they barely knew each other. He knew he already wanted to do this again. Alana would be horrified, but he wasn't going to tell her about this. He'd never confess to something so intimate.

Will turned to look at Hannibal. Hannibal fixed him with a stare. "Same time next week?"

Will nodded, feeling like he couldn't say no even if he wanted to. Which he didn't.  
"Same time next week, Dr. Lecter." Will walked towards the door and spun about on his heel. "I have to say, I was skeptical, but you proved me wrong. I feel better. Unburdened."

Hannibal smiled. "Good. I have plenty of other alternative therapies to try yet, Will. Don't be afraid to call if you need anything at all. I can always find time in my day for you."


End file.
